


an open field that's framed with trees

by mel_lifluously



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety Attacks, Awkwardness, Connor's alive but the Murphy siblings are still decidedly Not Okay, Evan still has his crush but their relationship isn't really romantic, Evan stress bakes, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Zoe is sugar-deprived, allusions to suicide attempt, because these two deserve to be friends, blatant and shameless Fall Out Boy references, hurt /comfort, nature as a coping mechanism, now for the less lovely tags, please stay safe if these things trigger you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 14:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mel_lifluously/pseuds/mel_lifluously
Summary: Two friends pick a spot and talk some things over.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! :) This is my first work on AO3, and I'm super excited to be posting it. Dear Evan Hansen means so, so much to me, and I sincerely hope I can do it justice with this little fic.   
> Before I get any further into that sappiness, though, I wanted to give a shout-out to and a massive thank-you to my amazing friend/ beta reader Grace. She introduced me to this amazing, heartbreaking musical, listened patiently to my rants about my embarrassing crush on Ben Platt, gave me feedback on every change I made, and supported my writing from the beginning. [Since I know she's going to read this at some point- the Jared mention was for you. ;)]  
> Anyway, I won't ramble any longer. Thank you so much for reading, and feel free to leave a comment / kudos if you enjoyed! It would mean the world to me.

_Date: 27 August 2016_

_Therapy Session: 25 (I think. I haven’t really been keeping track. Sorry.)_

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Today is going to be a great day, and here’s why- you’ve made a friend that really, truly, genuinely_ _likes you._ _Not the halfway-tolerating, Jared way of liking you, either! You’ve been talking to her for a couple weeks now, and you somehow haven’t managed to screw it up yet! She doesn’t laugh at you, or interrupt you, or think you’re weird, or anything like that, and you might not be that good at talking to her yet, but for once that might be okay._ ~~_You also haven’t slipped up and told her that you love her or that's she's pretty or something so that’s good too, I guess? Not that you don't want to, or that it's not true or anything, but still._ ~~

_Mom’s been home more often this week (apparently the hospital hasn't been as busy), and she's been really happy since you told her you've been making friends. She asked you to help her make cookies for the first time since you were little, and she’s insisting that you bring them with you when you meet up with your “mystery friend” today._

~~_You will_ _never hear the end of it_ _if you tell her that your friend is, you know, the girl you’ve been crushing on for literally forever, so you’d better remember not to do that. But don’t make it too obvious that you’re not saying something, because then she’ll wonder why you’re uncomfortable and keep asking, and you’ll eventually crack and you’ll have to explain who your friend is and why you didn’t want to say who they were and then she’ll be disappointed in you for not coming right out and saying it and she’ll ask you about dating and stuff and say “I don’t know how ready you are for that, Ev” and everything’ll be even worse-_ ~~

_You should probably wrap this up and get going soon, so you won’t be late, because then you’ll be all uncomfortable and stuttery and sweaty and gross and she won’t want to talk to you anymore ~~-~~ _ ~~_if she even did in the first place because who knows, maybe she’s just being polite?_ ~~

_Anyway. There’s no reason to be writing out your worries- reiterating them makes them stronger, right? Just be confident Evan. Confident, but not too confident, easy-to-talk-to Evan. He’s great. He’s going to come through for you._

_Sincerely, your best and dearest (but maybe not only?) friend,_

_Me_

* * *

 

 

Laurel Street- the Cloverport equivalent of the Millionaire Mile- is as still and sleepy and perfect as ever today. The neat-and-tidy lawns gleam silver with fresh rain in the light, and the trees lining the winding road sway gently in the summer breeze. Flocks of mourning doves coo softly from branches and rooftops, filling the air with song. Peonies and lilies, miraculously still in bloom, reach for the sun from their immaculate garden beds. Everything is quiet, as though the entire block is holding its breath to keep from disturbing the peace. Everything except for the loud pop punk music pouring from the open window of Zoe Murphy’s car.

“I haven’t listened to this song in years,” the girl laughs softly, tapping on the steering wheel to the beat. “I honestly forgot I still had this album.”

Evan nods hesitantly, keeping his gaze trained firmly on the view out of the passenger-side window. (Zoe insisted on driving, waving away his stammering protests: “I honestly don’t mind, Evan- I know it makes you nervous. Besides, it means I get to pick the music, so it’s kind of a win-win, right?”) He’s risked a few glances over at the driver’s side since he clambered awkwardly into his seat a few minutes ago, but every time he’s ended up blushing. His stupid, traitorous, crush-addled brain registers her in mosaic- “give me some space” t-shirt dotted with little planets; messy bun framed by delicate curls, like ivy tendrils; nails painted a chipping light blue; faded jeans covered in a galaxy’s worth of scribbled stars. _Friends,_ he reminds himself firmly as he fidgets with the bundle of cookies in his lap. _She wants to be friends._ You _want to be friends._

“So, uh, what band is this by?”

Zoe shoots him a curious look, easy smile curling into an impish smirk.

“You mean you don’t know Fall Out Boy?”

_Way to go, Evan. Way to go._ “I-I mean, uh, it’s not that I don’t know them? I’m sure everyone knows them, y’know? Or most people do, not everyone, I guess. I just don’t know this song. That well. Um, h-how do you know them?” _What a stellar recovery._

It seems to work, though, and Evan barely holds back a relieved sigh before he notices how Zoe’s smile has faded. Her voice is a little strained when she speaks again.

“Connor and I pooled our money to get this album when we were younger. I still remember playing it on our old CD player and just belting out whatever song came on. Mom was mortified- coming home to her kids singing ‘I Don’t Care’ at the top of their lungs so all the neighbors could hear.” She sighs sadly, her eyes darkened. “It’s been a few years now, and we… we haven’t really been friends like that since.”

“So you’re not close?” _Was that not made clear enough for you? What are you_ saying _?_

“‘Not close.’ Understatement of the century right there.” Her hands have gone white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and she takes the next turn a little too sharp. _ShehatesyoushehatesyoushehatesyoushehatesyouwhatisWRONGwithyou?_

“I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to bring up something you didn’t want to talk about, I didn’t know, I swear, I’m so sorry-”

“Slow down, Evan. It’s okay. There’s no way you could have known. I just don’t talk about it much, so I can be kind of… bitter when I do.”  As the song ends on a harshly percussive note and the car rumbles through the outskirts of town onto the back roads, she seems to relax, shaking off the memories.

“Anyway. It’s too nice out to be all negative and depressing. Let’s talk about something else.” The music has changed to something slower, softer, the singer’s voice deep and soulful. Zoe hesitates for a moment before letting it play. “So, um… where are am I taking us? You said there was something a little ways out of town that you wanted to show me.”

“Oh! Right. I could have sworn I told you? There’s this, uh, this little place in the park where I used to work. Out in the woods. T-that sounds really shady, me asking you to come out into the woods to hang out or whatever, but I promise it’s not. It’s really nice. There’s… flowers, lots of flowers, and trees and stuff.” Evan fiddles with the edge of his cast, cheeks burning. _And now she thinks you’re a creep. You’re doing a great job today, Hansen._

“Hey,” she says gently, as though she’s picking up on his distress (which naturally makes his blush blaze even hotter). “It sounds cool. It’s Ellison Park, right?”

Evan offers a stiff nod.

“It must be really peaceful out there. Just forest for miles around.”

“Well, it’s, uh, it’s not _just_ forest, actually. There’s actually quite a bit of open meadowland, and of course there’s the marshes that drain off of the main river and a few little clearings here and there with birch and aspen and stuff that doesn’t grow as thickly as the oak- I’m rambling.”

“So you like trees, then?” Evan flushes and is about to stammer out a recovery (no way, of course not, why would I like _trees_ of all things, haha that’s so weird), but the genuine interest in her eyes makes him pause. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“That’s really cool.” _Cool? What does that mean?  Does she just think the topic’s cool, or does she think_ I’m _cool?_

“Is there a story behind that? Your interest in them, I mean.” For once, it’s Zoe’s turn to blush.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just figured I’d ask. It’s not the most common passion to have.”

“No, there is one! There is.” _It’s embarrassing and anxiety-riddled, but she’s already proven that she’s okay with that, right?_  

“When I was younger, my mom would go to the library a lot, so she could study for her classes. People would always try to talk to me when I was with her because I was still a, a cute little kid, y’know? And I didn’t want anything to do with that. As you can probably tell. S-so I would go find a corner where there were less people and grab a book off the shelf so it looked like I knew what I was doing and I wasn’t just trying to hide. The books that were in that section just so happened to be about trees. So I kept reading them every time we’d go there, and I started memorizing facts and stuff. A-and those facts gave me something to focus on when I was really nervous- I’d recite them in my head- so I kept learning more. And here I am now! Full-fledged tree nerd.” Evan does his best to ignore how his broken arm twinges as he says this. _We’re not going to think about that. Not today._

There’s a pause, the car gone quiet except for the mellow hum of the music. Evan focuses in on it in a desperate attempt to distract himself from his racing thoughts. (Which, naturally, have started to fall into their familiar pattern of “was that too personal? That was too personal that was too personal you’re giving away too much she doesn’t want to hear about your sad life oh God why are you like this?”) _I’ve got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match,_ the singer croons softly. Evan winces at the irony.

“I didn’t know it was like that,” Zoe says at last. Her voice is soft, softer than it's ever been, but it holds no trace of the patronizing pity that so often follows Evan’s little accidental confessions. Maybe Evan’s just grasping at straws, but it seems as though there’s some sort of _understanding_ there. As though she knows how he feels, somehow. His heart races, a flutter of hope stirring in his chest. He's about to say something, about to ask, the words finally lining up just right-

“I have friends,” she says quickly. The car jolts forward suddenly as she pushes the pedal a little too hard.

Evan doesn't know what to say to this. “I’m sure you do?” _They're better than you, that's why she's telling you, they're better and they’re not screwed up and she's kicking you out so she can go be with them and you’ll have to walk home and Mom’ll ask what happened and-_

_“_ I mean, with anxiety. Theirs- or hers, I guess- might not be exactly like yours, but I like to think I have at least a little experience with it because of her. If there’s something I can do to make you more comfortable- to make it a little less overwhelming- just let me know.” There's another brief, uncomfortable pause. “I’m sorry, I’m probably overstepping, it’s none of my business-”

“ _Nonononono_ , you’re fine! You’re good! I just, uh- most people don't ask about it? So, so I, um, I don't always know what to do when someone does. But it’s nice! Really. It’s nice.” There’s something, warm and slow and languid as honey, spreading through him, and he smiles. Really smiles, for the first time in a while. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Evan. By the way… do you know Alana Beck, by any chance?”

“Alana Beck?” Little snapshots of memory flash through his mind at the name- neat dark braids, tucked-in shirt, sunny smile. The sort of confidence that speaks of straight As and Ivy League scholarships. “Kind of? I know _of_ her. Not personally- not that’s she not nice! I’m sure she’s nice. I just- I haven’t… why do you ask?”

“She has anxiety too, and she’s the reason I know what I do about it. I’ve been talking with her a lot lately- whenever she’s not busy with school- and some of the stuff she said matched up with what you told me. She does the same sort of thing you do- with the reciting facts.”

“Oh. Cool.” _Except she’s probably better at than you are because she’s, you know, actually_ smart _and good in other classes than just English and Biology and she doesn’t obsess over_ trees _, of all things, honestly, if you’re going to have an obsession it may as well be an_ intelligent _one-_

“I don’t really know where I’m going with this. I just want to try to help you, and I thought maybe what works with her might work with you?” She sighs, clearly frustrated with herself. “And now I’m starting to sound like my mom. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, that’s fine! Really, it is.” Evan flails his good hand around in what he hopes is a decent placating gesture. “I-it’s honestly worth a shot? Pretty much anything is. I haven’t really, um, really found anything that helps.” His arm gives another telling twinge, and he cradles it closer to his side. In the next moment, as the last song fades out, the GPS system announces in its tinny voice that their destination is on the left. Long, cool shadows spill across the rough gravel road. The trees Evan’s grown so familiar with loom dark and quiet all around them.

“Except for this,” he breathes, and in the glow of the dappled sunlight he swears he can see Zoe smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where those less nice tags come in. Please stay safe.

“Evan Hansen?” The question is muffled and faint, distorted by the rush of wind, but it startles Evan all the same. The pretty rock he was fiddling with drops out of his hands and clatters back onto the river bank they’d stumbled across.

“Zoe Murphy?” he asks tentatively, not sure whether or not he wants to have this conversation (whatever it may be) face-to-face. Or at all, honestly. _Why is she using your whole name? No one ever does that. And you just did the same thing, oh no, she probably thinks you’re so weird, she’s never going to want to talk to you ever again-_

“I want you to know that these are mine now, and you are _never_ getting them back.” At this Evan whips around, more than a little confused- and he can’t help but stifle a laugh at what he sees. The girl he used to think of as the epitome of grace has melted chocolate and cookie crumbs on her face, and the smile she’s wearing is akin to that of someone having a religious experience.

“Are they really that good?”

Her eyes widen incredulously as she takes another bite. “Are you kidding?” She finishes her cookie with a blissful sigh, then glances down at her chocolate-covered hands and blushes. “Sorry, I’m embarrassing myself. I just… haven't really had chocolate or sugar or anything like that in a while. Mom doesn't like to keep it around the house- she's always going on about temptations. ‘They have no place in our house’ and all that.”

Evan can’t help but be taken aback by this. Baking and sweets have been a part of his life for almost as long as he can remember- the pies his mom used to make from the apples they’d pick from the orchard, Evan perched on his dad’s shoulders and reaching to pluck the ripest fruit; Evan receiving the same gift for his birthday since he was little- a fresh-baked cupcake and the promise that “this is going to be your year, honey. It’s been hard up until now, but everything’s going to work out okay.” Just a few days ago he’d trudged wearily home from school to find a slab of baking chocolate, an old recipe and a bottle of vanilla extract (the real, expensive kind) laid out on the counter. _For the big day_ , the note beside it proclaimed in his mom’s familiar loopy scrawl. _Even mystery friends are bound to like cookies, right? :)_

“You mean you guys really don’t have desserts? At all?”

“Not really. Not recently, anyway.” She twirls a messy curl- still dyed fading indigo- around her finger absently, thinking. “It has to have been a couple years at least since Mom made them off limits.”

“Well, I, um, I can probably help with that? Working around it, I mean.”  Evan smiles sheepishly as she looks up at him. “I like baking. I know there’s that whole thing people have about it, that it’s girly or whatever- not that girly’s a bad thing to be! But I like it. Everything you have to do is all laid out right there, so you don’t have to guess or anything. And that’s kind of comforting? Because I don’t exactly do very well when I have to guess at stuff. A-and of course the end result is really good! Or at least I hope it is?”

“Evan, I’m going to say this once and only once, okay?” He nods cautiously, unsure of where this is going. “Your baking is heaven on earth. Please never stop.”

“I won’t! I won’t. As long as I have someone to make stuff for, I guess?” He smiles in a way that he prays isn’t too pathetically hopeful, but it melts away. His shoulders slump. His racing mind finally catches back up with him.

“Speaking of that…” He sighs, the fingers of his good hand twisting into the threadbare hem of his shirt. _Just get it over with, Evan. Don’t drag it out._

“I had something I wanted to ask you. If that’s okay.”

Her eyes have darkened with concern, but she nods all the same. “Go ahead.”

The words come out in a rush. “ _Whyme?”_

“I’m sorry?” Her frown has deepened, and Evan curses himself for it but presses grimly on all the same.

“Why would you pick _me_ to talk to? I mean, look at you. You’re… you’re really _cool,_ y’know? You must have this, this long line of people just _waiting_ for a chance to talk to you, and… and I’m just me. A-and not to mention that you agreed to come out all this way, which probably took up so much of your day, and it’s a Saturday in the summer, so you probably have a lot better things to be doing? But instead you choose to humor the weird kid. The kid who can’t go a minute without stuttering and shaking and making a fool of himself and can’t make friends that like him for _him_ because he’s too _scared.”_ There are tears burning in his eyes now, and he makes a halfhearted effort at wiping them away. “The kid who’s so- so _invisible_ that people wouldn’t even notice if he just disappeared. I just… I don’t want you wasting your time.”

Evan squeezes his teary eyes shut, bracing himself for the rejection he knows is coming. _This is it. This is it. This is where she ditches you. Why can’t you just_ shut up _and keep your sob stories to yourself why are you so pathetic now she knows how screwed up you are and that’s why everyone always leaves isn’t it you’re too much of a mess too many broken pieces to pick up too_ worthless _to bother with and you_ **know it** _(his breathing’s speeding up, his shoulders are shaking, he can feel his chest starting to heave, the waves are crashing in and he can’t stop them can’t move can’t run away he’s drowning, drowning, drowning)_

“Evan? Evan, are you- oh my god. Okay. Okay, I’m right here, and I’m going to help you. I know you’re really scared right now, but I want you to try to take some deep breaths for me. Here- can I touch you? I’m just going to move your hand.”

Through the haze of static thundering in his head, he manages to nod. He can just barely feel his hand being gently tugged away from where it’s cradled against his chest and placed on something he can’t see. There’s fabric under his fingers- soft and wash-worn. The sensation is grounding, and he clings to it desperately.

“There. Can you feel my breathing?” Another stiff nod- every move feels like shifting the weight of the world. “Try to match it, okay?” There’s a rhythm thrumming beneath his fingers, slow and steady, and he can feel himself starting to relax just a little-

But then Evan realizes who’s with him, who’s talking him down, and deep breaths are suddenly impossible. _What is wrong with you what is wrong with you what is_ wrong _with you she’s going to think you’re such a freak-_ “I-I can’t, I can’t-”

“Yes you can, Evan. You can, I promise. You’re going to get through this. Everything’s going to be okay.” Her voice is as gentle as it is reassuringly steady.  

Slowly, slowly, the panic begins to ebb away. The static quiets, giving way to the whisper of wind and water. He can feel the rich earth of the riverbank beneath his feet, the warm breeze whistling through the trees, his fingers closed around that soft fabric- that he now realizes is part of Zoe’s shirt.

Evan’s eyes snap open and he reels back, wiping his suddenly-sweaty hands on his shirt before scrambling to apologize. Every word is stuttered and shaky, his voice cracking apart halfway through, his face flaming red- and suddenly he cuts himself off. Zoe holds out her arms, a sad little smile on her face. He hesitates, too stunned to move, before tentatively stepping into the embrace. She holds him loosely enough that he doesn't feel trapped, and she’s gentle with his broken arm, moving it carefully out of the way. And they just- breathe. The ever-present embarrassment flickers out, and he can feel himself relax.

It’s peaceful here. Quiet. The sky above is tranquil blue. Sunlight filters down through the canopy- warm, gentle rays. There’s earth and water and the scent of growing things all around them.

Somewhere across the river, Evan knows, a forty-foot oak tree sways. It’s crooked and ancient and surrounded by broken branches. Evan hasn't forgotten that tree. He doesn't think he ever will. But for now, he breathes- _they_ breathe- and he thinks, just maybe, it might get easier.


End file.
